The Long Goodbye
by KNW
Summary: The hero doesn't always get his happy ending, sometimes there's just one more thing to face, and this time it can't be fought because illness fears no blade. A decade of peace is shattered by news of Laguna's condition. SxS.
1. Broken

**Disclaimer:** You all know they aren't mine.****

**A/N: **Please enjoy all. Be pre-warned it is angsty, but good angsty. As this first chapter gives away, it is a deathfic, a family drama deathfic, so please stick with reading it even if deathfics aren't your usual thing, I'm hoping to do the story justice.****

(Seifer's pov)

**Broken******

I didn't look as the door slammed; neither did she.

She was still staring at his chair as it spun slowly, the force with which he'd left it lasting yet. Tears rolled down her cheeks, silent sorrow, and she made no effort to wipe them away, no effort to break the quiet in the motionless room...

I wasn't good with being quiet though, staying still, sitting here in his office while he was outside hurting.

With a sharp indrawn breath, I rose, running a hand through short honey blonde hair as I strode determinedly toward the door, following him as he had once followed me.

"That went well..." Her voice was barely a whisper, but it stopped me in my tracks. My fist tightened about the door handle with barely suppressed anger, leather gloves creaking under the pressure. My fury seemed tangible; she'd hurt him so much and now she sought to make a joke...

"What the fuck did you expect?" I bit out. I didn't want to be there, I wanted to be with him, there for him... I wanted to arrive in time before he hid back inside that shell and I lost him... maybe forever. Yet it was the rational part of my mind that held me back, the realistic part that demanded I ask the questions he couldn't.

"Seifer... I..." She started.

"Shut up."

I leant forward, pressing my forehead to the cool panelling of the door, taking a deep breath and exhaling, letting all the rage flow out like they taught me in the anger management class… Stupid techniques had to come in handy one day I guess. I just wish it hadn't been for this... Like this.

My voice quieter now, "Just answer two questions for me?"

I could hear the rustle of her clothing as she turned to look at me, brushing her hair back from her eyes no doubt, straightening the emerald shawl that Laguna had given her when she was younger. She, it seemed, was overcome by the need to talk in whispers too.

"Go on." She murmured.

I didn't look up at her, I wasn't sure I could face the answer, and when I opened my mouth to speak I found I couldn't even ask the question. Making a noise of frustration I hit the door hard. Behind me, her startled gasp was clearly audible.

Clenching my fists I finally managed to get the sentence out, haltingly, "Is… Is it... hereditary...?"

There was silence... I suppose she shook her head before she remembered I couldn't see her and said aloud, "Squall has a greater chance of getting it than you or I, but it's still very unlikely."

Her voice wavered, betraying the fact she still cried. I couldn't comfort her though; it wasn't my place. Uncurling my fingers I pressed my hands flat against the door and pushed away. Rubbing my eyes I finally turned to look at her, "How long?"

Tears filled her eyes again and I almost wished I hadn't asked, her voice cracked as she spoke, "They say usually around ten years..."

I bit my lip, ten years wasn't long, not when about half of it probably wouldn't count. Eventually I stated, "Squall will want to move to Esthar to be with him..."

She nodded. I could see she was trying not to sob, trying to hold her composure just until I was out the door.

Turning I grabbed the handle, wrenching the door open and heading out into the Garden; he was here somewhere and he needed me. I wouldn't stop searching until I found him.

In the end it was Irvine who told me where to find him, Irvine who'd seen him stalk into the training centre and known better than to follow…

I guess I'd known where he'd been all along too, but something held me back from going to him, as much as I wanted to. Perhaps it was partly because I knew he needed a little time to work off some of the rage at the world… and perhaps more truthfully I was scared I couldn't comfort him now, when he needed me most.

He was easy enough to follow. As soon as I entered the training centre I could see the swathe of destruction he'd left in his wake.

I could also feel how palpable his rage was, the turmoil he'd been thrown into, even at this distance... because when you love him like I do, you learn to look for his emotions not only in his face, but also in the things around him.

Right now the surroundings sang his feelings to me, like a song, beautiful and deadly, angry and yet melancholy… because underneath it all was a heart-rending sadness I could only hope to vanquish for a short while.

It was in the broken stem of the bush beside the bridge where he'd brushed past in haste, uncaring of his surroundings as he sought to run from everyone, to hide the tears that coursed down his cheeks.

It was in the leaves crushed into the mud as he'd fought, his feet sliding as the blood from the monsters stirred the dirt below him into a thick paste, yet he remained oblivious as he screamed his frustration and hurt at the world.

It was in the quiet in the air, a silence out of respect for his pain and the mourning of a truly great man that was to be lost.

And it was in the carcasses strewn throughout the centre, a trail leading me to him, none left to die slowly, all finished humanely; because as much pain as he was in, he couldn't stand to watch anything in the throes of death because of the images it provoked.

All this I could tell, but when I found him eventually, having almost circled the facility, sitting on a mossy log, a tree trunk that had succumbed to rot and fallen long before… When I found him, his eyes glistening, the tracks of tears shining on his pale cheeks, my breath still caught.

Many people draw attention to their pain through their heavy sobs, through the loud shouts and pleas for Hyne to hear them and justify her actions… Not Squall though. He drew attention because of how heartbreakingly beautiful he looks sat in silence as he gives in to the misery and pain the world's thrown at him for years.

Everyone has a breaking point; he didn't give in without a fight though, I can see who knows how many scratches and fresh scars with only a glance. His shirt soaked in blood that's not all his own, and more glinting slightly under the heated glare of the Garden lights on the leather of his pants. Even his jacket has suffered, a large gash where the lining makes a bid for freedom testifying to his recklessness, his desperate fight for control before he gave up.

I never thought I'd see Squall cry. Neither now nor then… And it scares me to see it, because last time I underestimated how much it meant. Last time was the overture before the performance… A spattering of tears before the faucet dried up, before everything froze, encasing anything still fluid and feeling in an icy, impenetrable shell.

Wordlessly I gathered him into my arms, holding his slight form against my chest and mouthing comforts silently against his silken hair, comforts that I could remember no longer than it took for me to say them.

It was with a sad sort of relief I noted him curling closer to me, recognised how he sought warmth before I even realised he was cold and shaking, felt the material of my top pull tight as he gripped it in clenched fists.

My voice gone, I couldn't say anything aloud; I simply carried him mutely back to our room. Stripped him without any audible communication and placed him in a hot bath, bringing the faintest hint of colour back to alabaster limbs.

He didn't speak either, he simply watched me with his penetrating gaze. I could feel him measuring how well I was handling it, how much he could rely on my support throughout the hellish time to come.

I didn't promise him anything, because right then words were meaningless… All I could do was be strong for him until he adjusted, until he resolved the emotional imbalance the day's revelations had left him at and restored his mask, modified to the newest demands.

So, somehow, I kept my control. I dried him after his bath and took him to bed, managing not to let the tears fall until I heard his breathing deepen and level out, felt his body go still and saw the flickering of his eyelids.

Then, in the quiet of the night, with only the distant calls of the nocturnal wildlife to keep my sobs company, I cried for him, and for the father he was to lose.

To be continued…


	2. Transition

**Disclaimer:** You all know they aren't mine.****

**A/N: **It may take a while but this fic will be finished. I dislike abandoning things but writer's block can mean extended breaks. Thanks to those who left reviews for the first chapter all that time ago.

(Seifer's pov)

**Transition**

By the time I'd caught up, Squall was settled and silent. Not much of a variation on the morning's theme to that point I must admit. We were in the SeeD carriage for privacy, and I was thanking Hyne there were no cadets travelling with us on the reopened line to Esthar. The last thing I needed was some pesky kid irritating the fuck out of me because it'd inevitably lead to me snapping and Squall stepping in to defend the weak in his oh so valiant way. From there it wasn't hard to reach the final stage involving me sleeping on the couch tonight because I'd been stupid enough to make a comment on his being so noble. No, right now was not a good time for an argument though I sure as hell felt the need to hit something. I'm just not into breaking trains like Zell, so restraint is my new best friend though I sure as hell don't think it'll be a lasting relationship.

I might have said the silence was beginning to get oppressive. However the phrase beginning is more than a little misleading since Squall morphed in to an elective mute almost the moment I opened my eyes, if not before. The entire car journey from Garden to Balamb had been like this, him glaring out the window while I attempted some kind of pathetic small talk, trying not to shit myself from fear he'd gone and done it, iced up on me again. Even the sound of the stereo that I'd finally turned on in place of my idle chatter – I was beginning to sound like Zell the way I'd been going on for Hyne's sake – failed to conceal the frostiness. I was waiting the whole journey for ice to start freezing up the windows like Shiva's touch, and that shows you just how ridiculous I was being.

I know deep down that he's not meaning to push me away, that this silence is his defence while he tries to regain his equilibrium. He's been cool, calm and to all outward appearances, in control from the moment I laid eyes on him this morning. If it'd been a few years back I might've been fooled, but he's opened up since then, to me at least, and I know the situation so I know he's too cool, too calm, too in control for any of it to be real just yet. Part of me wants him to break down in my arms again because at least then I'm doing something in offering comfort.

I think that's what's hardest to take. The fact that there's nothing can be done to save him, for all our glorious technology. It's a bitter irony that the President of the most advanced country in the world is being struck down by the one thing they can't fix… yet. I feel obliged to add the yet, even if I know any innovation will be too late for Laguna. I'm not ready to give up hope completely, not this soon. Even if this time there isn't anything to fight, even if there's no one to conquer before living happily ever after, I have to hope. That's what has the emotion behind Squall's mask swirling and roiling, smashing against the rocks of his outward façade like the sea at the height of Balamb's storm season. It's the only thing that's letting me know he's still there, letting me know he's struggling as much as I am between hope for a miracle and acceptance of the inevitable. Struggling to resolve precisely what the right balance between the two is, the balance that will ensure our sanity's survival for these first steps into our changed world. It's a world that, for us at least, has been turned on its head.

This wasn't something I ever imagined happening. It wasn't something I was even remotely prepared for because Laguna does seem eternal. If you've ever met him, you'll know he can make anybody feel comfortable; he can bring a smile to anybody's lips. He can be a friend, father, commander, whatever the situation requires. It's a quality I greatly admire in him. Or at least that was how it was. And it breaks my heart to realise that it'll be past tense for him even before he dies, because that's how this illness will work, it'll strip away everything we know… knew.

I don't think there's any way to convey how it feels. He was an aspect of our lives that we could rely on to never change. Of course we knew he was older, he was Squall's dad after all, but somehow that never correlated with the knowledge that someday, somehow, he might be gone. It certainly never evoked an image of what Ellone described: a man who, in time, will need help to get dressed, to do his laces, to go to the fucking toilet. Laguna was never the most dignified of people, but he never deserved this. No one does.

Watching Squall, the flashes of emotion sparking through him, warring across the landscape of his mind… I wonder if I'll be as strong as I hope, as he hopes, but most importantly as he needs. They're different things you see, Squall's not an optimist, he won't hope for much and he's certainly not one to acknowledge that he might need something to get through this without regressing to that kid I once called 'puberty boy'. I'm not stupid, contrary to popular belief born of my consistent failures to make SeeD. I do know what's coming. I know how stressful it's likely to be and already I'm craving a cigarette, a habit I thought I dropped months ago. I'm craving like a pregnant wench three months down the line wouldn't know, and yet I don't dare. Not because Squall would be furious, though he would, but because it's a relapse, a weakness, and I can't afford to show any weaknesses right now if I don't want to be shut out.

I take a moment to reflect that my internally focused brooding sessions are becoming every bit as bad as Squall's and almost smile, but only almost, it gets lost somewhere on route to my lips. Reflection past, I allow his restless shifting to draw my attention back to our present. It's a present where he has his back to me, and I'm wishing I could only think of it as a sign of his trust. Really though, he's presumably glaring out the window, and he's holding himself so stiffly I feel that were he to topple over he'd retain the exact pose he has now. Now that does curve my lips into a faint smile, still only faint though, because the atmosphere's too oppressive, because in time scale it's too soon, to allow for anything more.

Reaching out I trace a fingertip down his spine, watching him closely as he shivers and shrugs off the ghostly sensation. I think he's too absorbed in his thoughts to even register I'm here right now; beyond the security I hope I offer him in my presence. Hyne, I'm turning into such a fucking sap I need shooting. Then again, at least I'm not saying any of it aloud; in the privacy of my own head I can't be heard. It makes me wonder if that's how it might be for Laguna, trapped in his head while his body fails… Surely it's the brain's cognitions, not just the motor functions that're attacked though? I don't know just yet, I'm only guessing, hoping.

Slowly my hand makes the return journey over his back, barely more a caress than my breath against his skin might be, before travelling down his arm to his hand. He doesn't make any motion to shrug me off this time, so I take a chance and slide my hand into his, clasping it tightly and entwining our fingers.

For the longest time there's no response and I'm tempted to withdraw for fear I've overstepped what he's willing to allow right now. Then, at the exact second I'm about to pull away, his hand closes about mine in turn with a grateful squeeze. He doesn't look at me, doesn't say anything, but he doesn't let go either and that's enough.

Leaning back in my seat, sinking into the newly replaced cushions with a long exhaled sigh of relief, I let my head tilt back to rest against the window, closing my eyes. Of course it's impossible to stay thus for long; the pane feels like it's drilling Morse code into my skull and I have to shift again, but even that doesn't negate the thankfulness I feel that I'm not shut out. So adjusting my position without as much as a grumble (he should be proud), I instead rest slumped low with my face turned to his back, watching the play of muscles beneath the material. He might be still but he's not relaxed and that reminds me that whatever monumental land mark I believe his acceptance of my hand to be, he's still hurting, far more so than I, and that won't just go away.

Closing my eyes again, blocking out the undeniable visible evidence of his tension, I listen. I listen to the dull rumble of the train down the tracks carrying us closer and closer to a dose of reality neither of us is all that keen to receive. I imagine I can hear the distant screech of the seagulls that nest in the rocks either side of the line, the ones I'd be able to see were I staring outside as Squall is. It's a little bit of peace and normality in an ever-changing world. What I can really hear is him; his near silent, measured breathing. In here the silence is so much more invasive than it was in the car, it's permeating every pore of my being… and yet it's also easily chased away by the feel of his hand in mine, letting me in.

I'm not sure how much longer the trip will take… But since I'm also sure I've only resisted checking my watch for about five minutes I guess it's a safe guess to say there's still a few hours in store. What's waiting at the other end of the line…? I'm not sure. Kiros and Laguna might come to meet us, security be damned and all that, or there may simply be a courtesy car to drive us up to the palace. I almost find myself hoping for the latter to put off the inevitable… But then at the same time perhaps a 'sooner the better' policy might work? I know that at some point, either today or tomorrow, Squall and I will find ourselves across a desk from Kiros listening as the man does his best to inform us of what will happen, what is happening, everything.

It's going to be a permanent move in the end, or at least one that'll have us relocated for years. I'm not sure Squall's come to that conclusion himself yet, but I know he will in time, because icy as he may be, family means everything to him. That reminds me of Ellone, and why I'm so angry with her for running away, hiding in Winhill and leaving Squall to deal with all this. I'll deal with that later though; right now I think I'll nap. Yeah, me, Seifer Almasy, taking a nap, bet you didn't think you'd ever hear that? Truth is though; I need it. I need to be fresh later to deal with things. And it occurs to me that I might not have too much time to rest in the coming weeks, so I'd better take it while I can.

When Squall shakes me and I groggily realise the train is slowing to a stop, it takes me by surprise. I hadn't really expected to fall asleep. I thought I'd have too much on my mind. I certainly hadn't expected to arrive so soon. Time won't wait though, and it's with haste I follow him as he abruptly departs, emerging into the brilliant sunshine that suddenly seems as oppressive as the silence has been the whole trip. It's mere moments before my eyes light on Kiros. He's waiting for us with some members of security. There's no Laguna. I can feel Squall tense beside me as he reaches an identical conclusion to my own. It seems that, like time, the chat won't wait either.

It's with no small amount of guilt that I feel pleased when his hand again seeks out my own before we step forward to greet what's coming.

To be continued…


End file.
